One Thousand Heartbeats
by Infinity Reasons
Summary: One thousand heartbeats — moments in a cat's life which can never be revisited. These are the untold stories and memories of the dead and the living. These are the untold moments of those who are thought of as insignificant. A collection of one-shots.
1. Invalid

**Invalid**

_One Thousand Heartbeats — 1_

Things were different after you died. I lived. I earned my warrior name. I fell in love. I had a kit.

And what was worst, I forgot about you — how you were my closest friend, the only friend I'd ever had, how you made me feel like I wasn't just an ordinary apprentice. That was how Cloudtail made me feel when I was a warrior; that I was beautiful, no matter how many scars I bore. Scars were the mark of those who were experienced, not those who were ugly, or unable to defend themselves. Scars, both emotional and physical, created the cat that I was today, and in some ways, I was grateful for that. Without those scars, what would define me? Would I just be Brightheart, the cat that was stupid enough to try and kill a pack of dogs on her own? Or Brightheart, the no-one, a passing memory? Perhaps, when time came to pass, I'd be remembered for my bravery or my determination, not for my foolhardiness.

Some things, Swiftpaw, just have to be said. You, you are a passing memory; once the initial shock of your death came to an end, as all things do, you grew to be forgotten, just like I might have — but I was given a chance by StarClan. A chance to live, to set things right, to keep a heart beating, to have a family, to live, and to learn, and to appreciate the life I had, scars or no. You weren't given a chance, or a name, as I was. You would always be Swiftpaw, the apprentice; yet if I'd died that day, I'd be Lostface, the warrior. Named by a leader so affected by treachery and betrayal that it had caused the loss of sanity, and in one of these moments when nothing but anger and fear remained — but a warrior nonetheless. I pity you sometimes, before I close my eyes at night; because I fear that I am the only cat that dares lock you away somewhere in my memory, to keep your heart beating in all eternity, until the time comes that I must join you along with my Clanmates, when I have served my Clan as well as I can. _When my time has come. _Yours had not come. You were too young. And whatever she might have thought, you were _never _the traitor she made you out to be.

I suppose, walking amongst your Clanmates, you would only have lived a half-life, that of a cripple, because I know what those dogs did to you. I have memories that come back to me in my darkest nightmares in the depth of leafbare and in the time of the new moon. Nightmares that will haunt me forever; and despite how much I say I am better, I know I shall never be better.

I know that the moment I agreed to go with you, and encouraged you, will always be there and come to haunt me. Though I say I'm fine, and physically, I am, I can never remove those memories. I can remember that moment when I cheered your name at your apprentice ceremony. I can remember when I screamed at you to turn back when I saw the dogs.

And you didn't listen to me. You made me blame myself for not insisting harder, for standing there frozen in time in wide-eyed horror as the dogs swarmed over you, and refusing to go back for help. I wish I could say I did all I could to keep you alive, but...that wasn't what happened. I turned and ran when I saw them coming at you, and I didn't look back, until the dogs were upon me. And then, I saw nothing. Just darkness filtering before my eyes, until I was brought to StarClan, hanging between life and death.

_And you were there_.

I remember staring at you in horror as you smiled at me, kindly, endearingly, and no scratches and bruises were present where you should have been mauled. There were just three neat bite marks in your neck, the only sign of the awful fight you had been involved in. I knew, then, that you were dead. And I would always blame myself for my inadequacies; my cowardice in the face of a fight; my unwillingness to persist; the loyalty that I had lost in that instance, as I stared those dogs in their mean black eyes.

You told me that I would be blessed as a warrior, to be able to fight. That I would find love with a cat who I had hardly thought twice about before. That I would live a long and happy life.

I did, didn't I? You watched me as I lived it, as I began to forget you, as I put the past behind me — except in those dreams I had every single night for seasons. I watched the dogs overcome you, and I would be screaming your name; and you would look up at me with those liquid amber eyes, begging to be rescued, but my feet would be rooted to the spot, and I couldn't run as they turned, blood dripping from their jaws, and slowly started to approach me...

Then I would wake up, and I would be in the warrior's den again, and I would make my way out of the den and murmur an excuse to the guard. I would approach a river in the territory, in both new and old, and stare down into its depths, and watch my reflection in the rippling waters. Sometimes, if I looked hard enough, you would be there, sitting beside me.

But those fantasies and my night-time demons would be forgotten during the day and I would be happy, until the time came that I forget everything about the tragedies I'd experienced. As soon as I had my kit, my pride and joy, all those moments of horror seemed to vanish. I would watch her proudly as she became an apprentice, when she experienced her first fight, when she displayed honour and courage, and finally, when she became a warrior.

Whitewing. She fell in love, and had kits, two beautiful kits, whom I was proud to call my kin. I loved them almost as dearly as I loved my own daughter, and before I knew it, they were warriors, too. And I became an elder, watching Clan life buzz happily by, flashing before my very eyes, the present becoming treasured memories.

I often do that, now; I sit and watch the camp, and smile as Ivypool and Dovewing's kits come and visit me, begging for a story. I tell one to them with little reluctance, smiling and chuckling at their antics all the way through. Cloudtail is there, adding things in good-naturedly, and falls asleep halfway through the story, until the kits wake him up and he swipes them off with a laugh, telling them that he has to sleep now and that he's in no mood for play. But he plays, though — and that's why I love him so much. He's willing to do anything for anyone he loves. He has such loyalty, and I respect that; he has more loyalty than I will ever have and I could ever bring myself to have. He deserves what he has.

I'm getting old now. My time hasn't come, yet, but for the first time in seasons, I have had that dream again, the one about you. Only this time, the dogs weren't there; you were fending off invisible things, things that would be concealed to the naked eye, but you were struggling all the same. Somehow, you managed to smile at me, right before you fall down and your spirit wanders off to StarClan to join those of our ancestors.

And that's how deep my scars are, that's how deeply I am an invalid; I have overcome the injuries visible to those who glance once. To those who look deeper, harder, and for much, much longer, there are other injuries that most cannot see. The scars that burden my mind and my memory — scars that no matter how hard you try, you can never shake off.

Those visible scars, you grow to forget and eventually, you learn to accept them, and other cats know that they are there. But memories...they sneak up into your mind when you're thinking about something completely different; they can warp into darker thoughts, can drive a cat to insanity, such as they did for Bluestar. You're the cause of all these memories, the ones that will always label me as an invalid.

You know why that is, don't you, Swiftpaw? It's because I will never forget you. It's because I loved you.

It's because I will _always _love you.

* * *

><p><strong><em>One Thousand Heartbeats <em>**is going to be a collection of (hopefully) one hundred, possibly more, one-shots, about different events in the lives of different cats. Generally, they will be pairing one-shots, but sometimes they'll be about battles and other such things — they probably will be about cats that we know of, but they might be about cats I've made up who will be from the original Clans. As you might have guessed, this is a Swift/Bright one-shot (I don't think are enough of them around) as Brightheart reflects on her love of Swiftpaw and her memories of him. ****

**I'm using a word randomiser to come up with the themes, so as to inspire me. However, you can suggest a word — or a phrase, but **preferably** a word — that I could use as inspiration for a one-shot, or even a pairing, event or cat/s. I may not use every idea suggested, depending on how 'inspirational' I find them, and whether or not the cats are Mary-Sues; and I will dedicate the chapter to whoever suggests the word.**

**I think that's all for now. I haven't got anything planned for next one-shot, and it might be a while before I update. This is just a sort of side-story thing, which I update with one-shots when I'm bored, or inspired with a great idea for a one-shot, instead of making a separate story for each one-shot I write.**

**So, review away, give me your thoughts, opinions, etc. **

**Queen Of The Pens**


	2. Haze

**Haze**

_One Thousand Heartbeats — 2_

_to Coqui's Song_

_and_

_WarriorCat99_

The grey she-cat padded across the clearing, the intoxicating scent of catmint still wafting around her, having picked the fresh silvery-green leaves, careful to leave the younger shoots unharmed. Leafbare would be coming soon, and, like every leafbare, she could sense that there would be an outbreak of greencough; at the very least, whitecough.

She stopped by the fresh-kill pile, numbly reaching down and plucking a thrush from the pile, distaste curling on her muzzle as the feathers tickled the soft fur on her face. She retreated into the cool darkness of the medicine den, breathing in the calming scent of herbs, a scent that she loved, a scent that told her what to do. If she couldn't remember a herb, she'd close her eyes, and, very briefly, a memory would flash before her eyes — Yellowfang, brilliant yellow eyes ablaze, assessing her on how well she knew the herbs.

Then, there were the other times when she'd single out a scent and name it, playing a solitary game with herself. Every day, the den was flooded with cats — kits, queens, elders, warriors, apprentices — and she'd talk to them, and chat to them, but that was never enough. Whenever she remembered having that company, as a kit, as an apprentice, a smile would work its way onto her face.

Brackenkit, Brightkit and Thornkit were her constant source of company in the nursery, as well as her mother, Frostfur. When she became an apprentice, there was Fireheart, and there were her brothers and sister, becoming warriors with her. Then she broke her leg, and she became the medicine cat apprentice — and then, there was Yellowfang.

But then the mentor she knew and loved died, putting another's life before hers. And she was left alone in this world; and though most would not call her alone, they didn't know the meaning.

Did any warrior, any apprentice, any elder, know what it meant to go without another warrior, another elder, another apprentice by their side? If an elder didn't have another elder, there were the senior warriors. If an apprentice didn't have another apprentice, they had their mentor. A warrior was never alone — there was always another warrior to keep them company.

The life of a medicine cat was different; once your mentor was gone, you wished for an apprentice. And if that didn't come, then you would withdraw slightly from the world, alone and separated by an invisible boundary, until the time came.

"Cinderpelt?"

The grey she-cat jumped, her blue eyes flickering to a sandy ginger she-cat with light green eyes, airy, soft, and ever-so-slightly filled with concern. She smiled, fleetingly, and walked over to join the medicine cat, uninvited and silently not wanted — yet Cinderpelt was the medicine cat, and she could never reject the company of anyone. Her job was to nurture the Clan.

"What's wrong, Sandstorm?" the grey cat managed to spit out, without letting a note of hostility invade her tone.

"Oh, um..." the other she-cat glanced at her paws, "I just wanted to talk."

Frowning in concern, Cinderpelt took a bite from her thrush and pushed it aside, patting the ground next to her as an indication for the warrior to sit down. The ginger she-cat collapsed gratefully onto the smooth ground, sending a puff of sand into the air. Her eyes flickered to and fro, looking out at the Camp before her.

Following the warrior's gaze, the medicine cat realised for what seemed to be the first time that from here, all of the Camp was visible; from the kits tussling by the nursery, to the Highrock, where elders were gathering to gossip. The Camp was fairly peaceful today — although what Tigerclaw was plotting, hidden away somewhere in a world of rogues, she could only guess.

It seemed ironic, really, that the Camp be so peaceful when outside, the forest was in turmoil. At the Gathering only days ago, she'd heard fresh gossip spilling from the mouths of warriors and elders alike; dark tales, made up of rumours and superstitions, lies and truth. No-one knew which from which — and so they guessed, indirectly creating new rumours.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Cinderpelt broke the silence.

"I don't think it's much, and I really don't think this is your area, but I really need guidance in...love," Sandstorm finished weakly, flushing beneath her ginger fur and not daring to look at the medicine cat.

Cinderpelt's breath caught in her throat as she noticed the sandy she-cat's eyes trailing after a certain ginger tom. Fireheart. The brave, strong, loyal cat she loved. _Her _Fireheart.

"And...?" she managed to choke out.

"He sees me as a friend, and only that," Sandstorm whispered, her voice barely audible. "He doesn't even give me a sideways glance in..._that _way. And I don't want that to be the way he always sees me."

Anger stirred in Cinderpelt's chest, her heartbeat accelerating. _How can I give another cat advice on how to become the mate of the cat that _I _love? _she wondered. Then, it struck her: destroy Sandstorm's chances of ever capturing Fireheart's attention. She would have to do it subtly; but that was the easy part, and the grey she-cat knew exactly how.

"Are you sure that your emotions aren't confused?" Cinderpelt mused. "Maybe this is just a crush — maybe this is something that you'll get over eventually."

"No!" Sandstorm exclaimed vehemently, causing the medicine cat to flinch. "No," she repeated, more quietly this time. "He's blind to me, Cinderpelt. All he sees in me is a friend, as if there's a haze over his eyes, a mist, a fog, I don't know, just something! I need that haze to be cleared, otherwise...someone else might come along."

_And that someone else would be me_, Cinderpelt swore silently. There was no chance that this she-cat would steal her chance of being happy away from her. _I may be a medicine cat, but I never wanted to be a medicine cat. If I break my oath..._she paused, not sure whether to add the rest_...so be it_. _At least I'll be happy, at least I'll be able to feel like I'm not crippled, maybe even if it were just for a moment._

"Sandstorm," she took a deep breath, "as your medicine cat, I advise you the best I can. I think you should step out of the past, and move on; there is another tom that yearns for your attention, and you're blind to him. Don't you see? Haven't you seen how Dustpelt looks at you?"

The warrior stared at her in amazement, pale eyes widening.

"Then I _would _be living in the past," she insisted. "I used to love Dustpelt, I really did, and then Fireheart came...I hated him at first, but then I realised that it wasn't hate, it was love. I want him to see it, but I just don't know how to show it."

Cinderpelt stiffened momentarily, her blue eyes clothing, as if in thought. Really, she was calming the storm that raged in her heart and her mind, stopping the string of insults before they poured out of her mouth in an unstoppable and unquenchable torrent of words.

But Sandstorm did have a point — Fireheart was oblivious to everything that was happening around him. He couldn't see how devoted she was to him, how much she yearned to be the she-cat he fell in love with, how much she _was _in love with him. There was something that hovered between him and she-cats, as if put there by StarClan's doing, to stop him seeing things clearly.

She rose to her paws abruptly, her thrush now lying forgotten, her blue eyes fixing upon her rival. She forced a smile onto her face, singling out the soothing scent of thyme to calm herself.

"That is all the counsel I have to offer," she meowed to the warrior, "as you said, it's not really my area."

With that, she limped out of the den, barely registering Sandstorm's words of thanks as she stalked unevenly across the clearing, only stopping when a ginger tom blocked her path.

"Fireheart..." she breathed, and hastily dipped her head.

"I need to talk to you," he meowed, giving her a strange sense of déjà vu, "it's about Sandstorm."

Her blue eyes widened and she searched desperately in her mind for the scent of chervil, trying to stop her claws from unsheathing and raking the dirt in her anger and frustration. He was so, so, so _unbelievably _blind. How could he not see that she loved him so devotedly, with all her heart? In her mind, she heard Sandstorm's words — _as if there's a haze over his eyes_.

"I'm sorry," Cinderpelt replied bluntly, trying to stop the tears from falling. "I can't help you."

And as she walked away from Camp, tears making tracks down her face, she wondered why the tom she idolised had such a haze over his eyes whenever it came to love.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: It's been a long time since I've written anything...a bad case of Writer's Block, I'm afraid. Then, I got inspired (don't ask me how, because I have no idea) and this one-shot just seemed to flow so easily. Especially the latter part. I'm still finding it hard to write The Abyss, but hopefully I'll break that barrier soon and write a new chapter — I always find starting afresh helps me write better.<strong>

**Well, yeah, that's it. I hope you liked it. I don't mind Cinder/Fire, but I got two requests for it, so that's why I wrote it. I always liked Sandstorm and hated Firestar, so I thought she deserved someone better, but...oh well. Okay, so the next one-shot I'm writing I'm using the prompt _Mirror, _a request submitted by Automnfall. I think I have an idea for it, but it's still being developed. So, send in your phrases, pairing requests, words, whatever, to give me inspiration! Oh, and, I dedicate the chapter to the people that gave me the idea...this time, it was a combined one, because two people wanted the pairing.**

**Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers — Coqui's Song, Automnfall, WarriorCat99, R.L. Sisters & Jasmine Wanderer**

**Queen Of The Pens**


	3. Mirror

**Mirror**

_One Thousand Heartbeats _— 3__

__to Automnfall__

Look.

Ice blue eyes.

Blue-grey fur.

Stars on her paws.

Cursing angrily, the she-cat turned her head around sharply, looking away from the reflection in the water, and back up at the night sky, dotted with shining spots of light. Those were the stars she'd seen in her fur. Reflections. _Just reflections. _Nothing more, nothing less — there was nothing she should worry about. It was just a stupid, _stupid _reflection.

She was just seeing herself in that pool of water, that mirror. Those blue eyes, that blue-grey fur, they were hers, and they never had been someone else's; they would always be hers. She was _not _just a copy of her mother, as she often told herself, wishing that somehow, she could persuade herself to believe those words, that had so gradually become a mantra over her years, ever since she'd learnt her mother's little secret. She felt betrayed by Greypool, by Oakheart, for not telling her sooner — it would have made acceptance so much easier if she were younger.

She whipped her head around to stare across the pool as the bushes rustled, staring at the reflection of herself. The older, care-worn reflection — what she'd look like in a few seasons, a mirror of her old age. Those sharply-defined features, that sleek fur, they were hers, yet at the same time, they weren't; she'd borrowed them from her mother, merely that, and they'd never be hers. Not properly.

"Bluestar," she greeted civilly, hating the stiffness in her voice.

The elder she-cat just stared in reply, her blue eyes glittering with compassion and sorrow, not bothering to nod her head to show they'd she'd even acknowledged her daughter's presence. The air echoed with things that should have been said, had never been said, would be said, were never meant to be said. Words of the past and future, filling her head with pictures and images of what had been and what was to come. In the pool was the present. Standing in front of her was the future.

Then, quickly, Bluestar tilted her head and blinked slowly, revealing once more those ice blue eyes, and the RiverClan cat found herself staring into a mirror, lost in those chinks of ice, the ones that in winter so coolly reflected her. Yet those eyes were far older than hers ever would be, so much more full of turmoil and hatred and fear and weariness of days as a leader, and days in StarClan. Days of hardship, and days of longing.

The former ThunderClan leader stepped into the pool, her paws creating ripples in the starlit water, her body winding smoothly across it, as if she were in RiverClan herself — and, when she leapt out at the other side, her fur was completely dry, as if the water had not touched her at all. She sat down in front of her daughter, curling her tails around her paws.

"You are troubled, young one," she whispered. "You feel betrayed — by Greypool, by Oakheart, by _me _for not revealing the secret of your birth. You wish that I am not your mother, that I never existed, and you rue the day that you came upon RiverClan; because all you see when you stare at your reflection is me. The mother that you never had, the mother that you thought never loved you; but I loved you, Mistystar, with all my heart, and just because I left you, it does not mean you are unloved. Just because you are following in my footsteps, it does not mean that my footsteps _are _your footsteps. We are kin, we may look the same, but we are not the same cat. That is too cruel a fate, which must only be chosen."

"Like the path that Cinderpelt chose," Mistystar retorted sharply. "I tried talking to her, to see if she remembered me — but all the memories that she ever had are lost. And when she comes to StarClan, I presume, she won't know a thing?"

"Cinderpelt chose that fate for herself," Bluestar answered, closing her eyes. "She chose to give life to a kit that would otherwise die, nameless. She chose to be in StarClan's presence for merely heartbeats before she was reborn. It was the path that she had to take."

"Then it wasn't fate, was it?" the RiverClan cat stood up. "It was set in stone. You persuaded her to do it; you influence her mind when she was still weak. I thought that StarClan were the bringers of justice and calm, not voices that whisper over the left shoulder."

Bluestar's eyes snapped open, meeting Mistystar's gaze and freezing her daughter in her spot.

"Fate, dearest, is not set in stone," she meowed calmly. "It is what happens when it is meant to happen; I assure you, what Cinderpelt chose to do was meant to happen. As was your becoming a leader — you didn't become a leader _because _of me, but because you were a worthy cat. When you look in the pool," Bluestar stepped aside, giving Mistystar a clear view of the pool and her reflection, "you don't see me, but you see you. You're a much better cat than I ever was."

Mistystar rolled her eyes, finally released from her mother's powerful grasp.

"Please, don't become all modest with me," she snapped, "you led ThunderClan well and wisely in a time of trouble. Nothing troubles RiverClan, and we are happy, and fit, and healthy. A leader is not needed in this time — I'm just there to ensure that nothing ever goes wrong and upsets this balance."

The StarClan cat shut her eyes again, shaking her head solidly. A chill wind arose, and the ruff of fur around Bluestar's neck blew in the breeze, some strands breaking away and joining the leaves and molten moonlight that flowed with it.

"Without leaders, there would never be a warrior code to uphold," the experienced cat explained in a raised voice, competing against the wind. "Without leaders, these ordered groups of cats we call Clans would never exist; without leaders, no-one would go on patrols, no-one would hunt; without leaders, it would be yourself before others, not others before yourself. A leader is the balance between war and peace, laws and the wilderness that threatens it."

Mistystar turned her head away, furiously blinking tears out of her eyes, determined not to show weakness before her mother; surreptitiously, she washed her face to try and rid herself of the tears, but to no avail.

"Whenever I hear those words I compare myself to you!" her voice rose angrily, "I think how I look the same, how I act the same, how I think the same — and I wonder if I'm just a copy of you, like Cinderheart is a copy of Cinderpelt. If perhaps that Cinderpelt stayed in StarClan and she passed on some of her spirit to a kit, and I'm just a cat that at one point was close to death and you saved with a part of your spirit. If I look at my reflection in a pool, in a shard of glass, anything that creates a mirror, all I see is you."

"Cinderpelt long ago passed through the boundaries of StarClan, and she lives a fuller life this time, without a half-mad leader, and forest on the brink of destruction," Bluestar said softly, "you aren't me, Mistystar — you're just my daughter. I see me in you, too, young one, but I see the better half of me, not the side that drove me to insanity. You're younger, and you're alive, and you're happy, and you have kits that you raised yourself. You have what I could never have. Though you may not be me, you live the life that I wished to have; to raise my kits without giving them away to save my Clan from evil. I knew what I had to do, and I think I brought you a happier life in RiverClan, a life that you deserve."

The former leader, who had moved back to her place in front of her daughter, stepped aside once more and peered into the water, beckoning with her tail for her daughter to join her. Hesitantly, the RiverClan she-cat obeyed, treading carefully down the smooth rocks and looking into the rippling water below her.

"Tell me...what do you see?"

Stars on her paws.

Blue-grey fur.

Ice blue eyes.

Look.

"Me."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: My first non-pairing one-shot, and a reasonably quick update (for me), too! Thank you to Automnfall for the prompt, I really enjoyed writing it. Again, please submit a pairingphrase/word etc. in your review as an idea for a one-shot, and I'll try to fit it in. Oh, and sorry to Jasmine Wanderer, but I haven't read _Bluestar's Prophecy_, so I have no idea of the relationship between Snow and Thistle. Maybe a different pairing?**

**Here's a list of what one-shots I'm doing next.**

**- Spider/Daisy. Moment. (Moving to Mars)**

**- Storm/Tawny. Smile. (Madame Wolfe)**

**- Grey/Silver. Mine and Yours. (monkeyCsaw)**

**Once again, I love the reviews, support and ideas. Thanks to Coqui's Song, Moving to Mars, Madame Wolfe, Jasmine Wanderer, smilingpanda & monkeyCsaw. Six reviews! I love you all. *huggles***

**Queen Of The Pens**


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